


Drunk Tom Part One

by thewritingkoala, Tina0609



Series: Tom & Hanna [5]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Drunk Tom, F/M, puking, taking care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 22:12:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16921365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingkoala/pseuds/thewritingkoala, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tina0609/pseuds/Tina0609
Summary: Hanna taking care of a drunk Tom.





	Drunk Tom Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic that started the collaboration between us! It's maybe a little rough in the beginning, since we didn't know we'd continue doing this (properly) then. But we hope you'll enjoy!

“It’s like stargazing, but it’s warmer.” I can almost smell the stardust too, darling, I swear.” Inhalation. Sneeze. He’s still down on the carpet.

“Tom, that’s actual dust in the carpet. Now get up if you’re planning on sleeping at all tonight. I’m not going to haul your ass into the bedroom.”

He pouts, then opens his eyes wide. “And what do you mean, ‘haul’. I’m not that heavy. You think my ass is nice, though. Right?”

“I do, and I’ll forever regret letting you know. Now, if you want my hands on said ass, get up. If not…” She stops, tosses her hair over her shoulder and starts to walk away in the direction of the hallway.

Tom scrambles to get up, using your leg for leverage to rise in huffing-puffing stages. “Why didn’t you say so right away, darling? Of course I’ll come. I mean, come with you. To the room. Not _cum_ come. Although…”

“I’m not sure how much _cuming_ coming there’s going to be tonight.”

“Lots.”

“Yeah, and fast probably”

Tom draws himself to his full height and immediately wobbles. “Hey now. Don’t under…under…’stimate me. Slow and steady-” he stumbles and giggles “wins the race.”

She giggles as well, gazing lovingly at him. “Steady, huh?” Then her smile turns wicked, she pulls her shirt over her head, standing there in her bra. “Okay, Hiddleston, I make you a deal. You manage to open and get rid of your belt on your own, then trying to take off my bra. If you manage that…,” she winks.

Tom stands there gawking for a bit until she prompts him again. “Belt.”

He salutes, teetering precariously. “Belt. Yes, ma’am, certainly, ma’am.”

She holds in more giggles when he widens his stance slightly and takes a bracing breath. He looks entirely too serious, with a concentrated frown and the tip of his tongue poking out, as he deals with the belt as if diffusing a live bomb.

After a muttered “fuck” when he doesn’t succeed the first time around, he finally manages to get rid of his belt. Instead of merely unbuckling it, he pulls it out and raises his arm triumphantly, wobbling again. “Yes! See, I’m not half as pissed as you–hiccup–thought.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I’m impressed.” And she really is. The way he suddenly went quiet a little more than an hour ago, she made a deal with herself to find it successful, if he didn’t puke.

Then, when he lay down on the floor, she considered actually letting him sleep there. Getting him to stand - barely - is impressive. She will pat herself on the back later for that.

Tom still stands there, lowering the belt now.

“Bra?” she asks.

“Right. Bra. Nice short word that, by the way. Right? Espuh…shally for something so complica-ta-ted.”

Tom drops the belt with a clunk and walks closer. He tilts his head, then leans so close he’s almost touching her breasts with his nose. “Well, that’s not fair, darling, it isn’t one of those front-claspy easy-peasy ones.”

Another pout. Instead of asking her to turn around, he ignores her challenging smirk and circles around to her back. He just stands there for half an eternity, his breath on her skin.

“Tom, you sleeping while standing? Or contemplating? It’s not rocket science, you know.” She almost pities him, but she swears to god if he pukes on her she’ll kill him with her bare hands.

“Well, I can ass-sure you, it is indeed quite com…hard,” he mumbles. “It’s also easier when there aren’t two of them”

He hums for a moment, while she is still waiting.

She just wants to safe him from his suffering, when Tom talks again. A little more squeaky than she’s used to. “You don’t want me to do the one-hand thing, right?!”

Taking mercy on him, she bites down on the laughter bubbling up.

“No, Tom. Two hands is fine. Or four, apparently.”

She hears him grumble something about numbers not being his forte, and then she feels his fingers fumbling with the bra clasp. Even in his state–and hers–and holding in giggles, his touch sends a zing of awareness up her spine.

“‘member that time when I uncl…opened it with my teeth?” His hands still and his chin drops to her shoulder, the beard scratching it much too nicely. “That got you all hot and bo’ered. Mhmm..”

She huffs and blocks out the tempting memories. “Shut up and get to work, Hiddleston. Or are you conceding defeat?”

“Never!” he exclaims, a little too loudly for being so close to her ear. “I won’t be defeated by a clapsh.”

He mutters something about just trying out dirty talk, but goes back to work. His excited “Woo!” is a little out of place, and she’s certainly seen sexier stages of him; but it still doesn’t conceal the sigh that escapes her as she feels her bra loosen.

“I am a god,” he half-sings, not really managing the Loki snarl she enjoys too much for her own good. “What’s a puny bra clapsh to me?”

He circles around to the front again, then narrows his eyes in concentration and lowers the straps one by one with singleminded care.

Once her breasts are exposed and the cool air causes her goosebumps, Tom’s back to gawking. He rubs his fists over his eyes.

“Well now, four of these doesn’t quite look right, as bee-yu-tiful as they are,” he mumbles under his breath, and she barely manages to turn her snort of laughter into a squeaky cough.

His gaze snaps back up, slinks down, wavers between her face and her breasts.

“I won. I want my puh-rice.”

“Ah, well, yes. What was that again?” she asks, crossing her arms under her breasts, causing them to be pushed up. She ignores the tingly feeling, tapping her right finger at her chin in mock thought.

“Oh, I know,” she then exclaims, obviously startling Tom a bit, causing him to sway for a moment. “You can come to the bedroom with me.”

She turns around, ready to head for the bedroom she shares with Tom, right when he mumbles, “Well, I wan'ed to look at breas’s…”

She casts a coy look back at him over his shoulder. “Only look at them? No touching for you then, Mr. Handsy? Tsk, what a pity. I was rather looking forward to your hands on my breasts…or mine on your butt.”

Enjoying the look of pure, a bit surprised, delight on his face, she turns with a chuckle. She hasn’t taken more than two steps when she’s overtaken by a rather eager Tom, sway-striding so fast he bumps into her, the cupboard–to which he apologizes profusely–and the door frame.

“Firsss one to the bedroom gets to shoose,” he calls out–and promptly confuses the doors so he’s walking into the kitchen instead.

She can’t hold back her laughter anymore. Loud snorts leaving her as her body bends forward. “Oh, goodness. Oh, no,” she manages, as she tries to calm down.

Tom is still standing in the open door, holding on to the frame, swaying slightly. “Well, tha’s not the bedroom.”

He lets go of the frame, but catches the door handle immediately when he turns around. “Stop laughing,” he grumbles. “I got confused.”

Still wheezing a bit from laughing so hard, she raises her brows at him.

“I’ll admit, choosing between two doors in a pocket-sized apartment can be _very_ confusing. And don’t tell me not to laugh, Hiddleston–if this happened to me, you would be rolling on the floor holding your tummy by now.”

Tom gives it far more serious consideration than it warrants. His face changes from grumbly to enthusiastic so fast it makes her blink.

“Floor. Excellent idea. Less roll-oll around the floor, darling. Come ‘ere.” He crooks a long finger and then plonks himself down on the floor, somehow managing not to fall on his grinning face. “Who needs a bedroom anyway?”

Oh, damn. Not this again. A drunk Tom is a little bit like a small child, she always needs to carefully choose her words. And to think they almost made it to the bedroom.

“Tom, no,” she whines. She starts to get cold, her breasts still exposed. She covers them again with her arms, looking down at Tom again. “We really should go-”

But she’s interrupted by a yelp. A yelp from her boyfriend, who thought it’d be a good idea to lean against a door that isn’t yet closed. His back and head connect with the floor.

“Ouch. Bugger. Oh, fuck tha’ hur’s.”

“Tom!” she exclaims between fits of laughter. “Come up, here let me…” she reaches out a hand, but Tom being clumsy doesn’t quite find the right amount of strength, and pulls her down with him.

She lets out a startled, “Oh, shit!” and falls on top of him, and narrowly misses to hit crucial body parts with her knees and head, like his stomach or head.

Everything is still for a moment. So suspiciously still that she lifts her head and stares, half-fearing Tom has hit his head a bit too hard.

He’s looking at her with that oddly endearing and frustrating concentration he adopts whenever he needs to give his usually so eager brain cells a nudge. Oh no, what will he think of now?

She tries to wiggle off him but one of his arms loops around her with surprising strength and holds her in place.

“You know…you shoulda fallen down firs’. These are so niiiiicely soft. Woulda made peeeeerfect cushions to soften my fall.” Saying so, he lifts his free hand to her breasts, and his gaze turns even more concentrated and determined.

She resists the urge to roll her eyes, and simultaneously shudders as she feels his hand on her breast. He’s not the most coordinated at the moment, but his touch is quite precise. Figures.

She can’t help the new laughter that bubbles up as she rests her head on his shoulder. This is so not how she imagined the night to go.

“Ex'use me, mishy. I try to sed…senu…make you hot.”

It’s working, kind of. Figures, too.

“Oh, is that so?” She nips at his shoulder, which makes him automatically pinch a nipple. Ugh, definitely hotter now.

“Well, go on then, seduce me. But I swear if you get me all hot and bothered and then fall asleep on me, I’ll have your balls for breakfast.”

Tom’s eyes widen comically, and his Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow. He actually looks a bit scared for a moment, and she wonders whether his befuddled brain thinks she would make good on her rather graphic threat.

His hand leaves her breast and he crosses his fingers–the wrong ones. “Promish. Won’t disapp…dispo…let you down.”

She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. While this isn’t the MOST unsexy she’s even seen Tom (she witnessed him puke when he was ill, though she figures that’s also still in the cards for tonight), he’s definitely not in any mood to seduce her either. And yet still…

“Well, not letting me down, huh? Let me get up then.”

She figures this is the easiest way to make sure he won’t fall asleep. First brushing her fingertips along his chest, she puts her hands there, pushing herself up. Breasts free, she’s now on top of him, a challenging smirk on her lips.

Tom…well. Tom stares. Open mouthed.

And so she makes a show of it. Stretches and bows her back a little, which makes her breasts sway, and flexes as if it takes some effort to find the best way to get up. She makes a point of brushing her fingers further south, softly digging her nails into his abs for good measure.

Tom is still staring. And trying to swallow. And not really breathing.

‘What the hell, let’s go for it’, she thinks, and grinds herself against him before slowly climbing off him and getting to her feet.

Surprise, surprise, some other part of Tom is definitely…um…rising to the occasion. Huh…but she should probably not put too much faith into that.

“Up with you, soldier. Seduction in the kitchen won’t get you brownie points.”

Tom blinks to life and scrambles. She’s not entirely sure, but she thinks she can hear him mumble about “brownies and boobs”.

She squeals a little when Tom loses his footing and needs to grab at her. Her breasts, of course. How he always manages to be so focused when it comes to them, she has no idea.

“Oopsie daisy,” he mutters, and she slowly gets the feeling that this is about to go south. HIS south for sure, but certainly also south as in ‘we’re not going to make it to the bed alive’.

“Okay, big guy,” she tries, “you need to cooperate with me a little here.”

His head wobbles as he nods. “Yessss. Co'rperating.”

His hands wander on her breasts, but she’s a bit too exasperated to appreciate it properly. With a sigh, she yanks them away and puts one on her hip while she loops his other arm around her neck.

“Hey,” Tom protests. “I was holding on so nicely.” His hand starts to creep from her hip up towards her breasts again.

She rolls her eyes. “I said cooperating, not copulating, Hiddleston. Hands off my breasts until I tell you to put them there. Now let’s take a few steps together, come on.”

There’s that pout again, somehow worse when combined with the ginger-y beard of doom.

“Yeesh. When did you become so–whazza word?–bossy?”

The look she shoots him is a mixture; part amusement, part glare. “Yes, bossy. I’m slowly getting cold, you’re wearing much more clothes than me after all.”

“Well, lemme jus’…” He stumbles a bit as he tries to open his trousers while walking.

She immediately stops him, they don’t need another fall. “Uh-huh. Bedroom. Now. I promise I’ll be totally bossy there.”

Tom giggles, actually giggles. “A'right.”

Making a mental note never to be around again when Tom is drunk, she resists another eye roll and giggle of her own.

They hobble along at a snail’s pace. He really is bloody heavy, although there isn’t a spare ounce of fat on the man.

They’ve made it through the bedroom door by the time Tom says something again. “Jus’ so you know. I have ‘solutely no problem wi’ you being the boss. I’m a stark…strong…uhm, no wait…staunch s’porter of femi..mi…nism.”

He nods gravely, then raises his fist into the air to shout “girl power”–which promptly unblanaces them again.

“AH! Tom, I…” is all she manages, before they crash towards the bed.

They let out an “Oomph” simultaneously, her now standing on the foot of the bed, Tom laying on top of it; half on his stomach, half on his side. He’s laughing. Uncontrollably.

“My s'port for women brought me tothebed.” He’s wheezing now, while she can’t decide whether to love or cry at the situation. She’s also still half naked, and wonders, if it’s safe to leave Tom alone for a minute.

Best to save what can be salvaged, she thinks. With a grunt, she bends and tugs Tom’s shoes off.

That only makes him giggle again. “Darling, you sh-shure you aren’t a bit sloshed too? Firs’ you say you wanna touch my ass, now you’re fid…stlugg…working on my shoes. My ass is up here.”

His hands go to his trouser button again.

Seriously, if she rolls her eyes one more time tonight, they’ll fall out of their sockets. She puts her hands on her hips and glares. “I said I’m the boss, didn’t I? Shoes first, ass later.”

She turns with a huff and rummages in a cupboard for a T-shirt to wear. She’s got one arm and half her head inside it when Tom shouts, “Noooo…no covering the buh-rrr-easts!”

“I promise you can uncover them as soon as we’re both in bed,” she answers after putting it on fully. She doesn’t think so, though.

“Hmhm. Sounds splennid. Wanna cometo bed now?” His hands fumble with the button again, and this time, she pities him.

She moves closer, her hands gently patting his away, and she opens the button. “There you go. Now, you want me to take them off as well?” She wiggles her eyebrows, but is sure he doesn’t even realise.

Tom nods eagerly, but before she can do more than lower the zipper, he has inelegantly but energetically rolled himself completely onto his stomach–which effectively traps his trousers beneath him so they won’t budge an inch.

“What the hell, Hiddleston?!”

His voice is muffled by the blanket. “Darling, din’nt you know, my ass is on this side. Seri’sly, you’re not very log…log-gshical.”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus, Hiddleston. I love you, but I swear, you’ll be the death of me”, she huffs. “Get your ass up.”

Which, much to her amusement, he does. Face pressed on the bed, his bum raises. “Kinky,” he mutters. And wiggles. And then he groans. “It’s kina blurry like'is. An’ spinning.”

“Don’t you dare puke on my sheets.”

“M not gonna puke. M not a bloo-uh-dy teenager,” comes the indignant reply, closely followed by another groan, this one a bit too high in pitch.

“Dammit it all to hell!” In sheer desparation, she brings her hand down hard on his ass, the resounding smack probably making her hand sting more than his stupid ass cheek.

It does the trick, though. Tom shoots up into a sitting position, too shocked to be nauseous for a second. She grabs his arm, hauls him off the bed and drags him to the bathroom.

“Hey! You’re manhannneling…” But he’s cut off by another tiny groan and an “Oh.”

“Oh?” It doesn’t really help her panic, and she can already see her clean bathroom decorated. So, she lets Tom stand by the sink for a moment, and rushes to the toilet, lifting the seat.

“Oh, I don’ feel TOO good.” He looks rather green, too.

“Yeah, I figured. Not a teenager, yeah?” she asks as she pulls Tom to her, and positions him in front of the toilet, on his knees.

Still, she can’t help but grin a little. He’s going to be so miserable in the morning. “Sexy,” she smirks.

Tom somehow manages - among swaying and rapid owlish blinking - to stab his thumb at his chest, which causes more swaying.

“Sexy. Yes. M so seeexy. N you luff me.”

Biting back a dozen other reactions, she simply says, “And I’ll love you even more if you manage not to puke all over the bathroom.”

“Tole you, not gonna pu…oh…fuck…” There’s a lot of swallowing, and then Tom jerks his body forward and miraculously manages to aim right for the bowl when his dinner and drinks come back up.

She manages to not get sick as well, as she sits on the edge of the bathtub behind Tom and slowly rubs circles on his lower back. Thank goodness, his hair isn’t long enough to have to be held.

When the puking slowly becomes spitting, she goes to the sink, and wets a towel for Tom, filling him a glass of water as well.

She comes back with the towel, as he groans, and places it in his neck.

“Cold,” Tom mutters and then sighs. His arms are stretched out on the seat, his head resting on the left one. “Some if the food mushavebeen bad.”

“Sure it was.”

“An’ I nev'r drin’ again.”

“Sure you won’t.” She’s standing next to him now. “You’re done?” She waits for his nod, then flushes the toilet. “Oh, Hiddles. What should I do with you?”

Tom grumbles a bit but lets her pull him up.

“Lemme guess. “ Sway. Blink. Sway. “You’re gonna mannn-annndle me some more. Seer-us-ly, so bossy.”

She glares at him. “Stop complaining or I’ll let you sleep right here on the cold bathroom tiles.”

He holds up both hands and it unbalances him enough to lean back against the wall. “Yes, ma’am. So’y, ma’am.”

They begin their staggering walk back to the bed.

“You’re jus’ like mom,” he whines. “Thomas, you naugh…ty boy, ‘ss-a-middleof-a-night…and…and…” His voice slowly loses its indignant tone and goes really quiet.

She huffs. “Comparing me to your mom. Gee, thanks. You’re so going to pay for that.” She gives his arm a little slap. “Hey there, no falling asleep while walking!”

Tom jerks a little. “Sorry, I’ ‘wake.” His eyes are half-closed, the nod not as energetic as 15 minutes ago. Tom smacks his lips together a little. “Tase’ funny.”

They reach the bed where she lowers him carefully in a sitting position. “You stay here. Don’t move. I’ll get some toothpaste and your water.”

Tom salutes, nearly poking his eye out.

“Yesh, mom. I mean, ma’am. Too’pashte.”

Shooting him a last glare, she darts back into the bathroom.

By the time she returns, she feels like hurling the toothpaste at his stupid beardy face–the face of someone asleep and snoring softly. He must’ve tried to get out of his sweater because he’s got one arm in and one out. His torso is on the bed, his feet are still on the floor.

She has half a mind to wake him up, just to undress him properly. She’s a little afraid he’d puke again, though. He’s also a little heavy for her to be turned around on the bed all by herself.

So, she does the best she can, lifts his other arm out of his sweater, not too carefully, contemplates if it’ll maybe choke him during the night, then decides she doesn’t care at this point.

She fills a bucket with a little water, gets a spare blanket from the cupboard, then comes back and puts one item next to the bed, the other on top of Tom. She seriously thinks about using the water on top of Tom, but then remembers, she’d probably would have to get him undressed on her own then.

She’s back in the bathroom to ready herself for bed, then returns and gets on her side of the bed. She’d just have to be a little careful not to hit him in the head during the night.

For good measure, she ‘accidentally’ bangs her knee against his shoulder, but that just makes him snore loudly once before he goes quiet.

“Idiot. I hate him,” she mutters–then gives a startled squeak when Tom reflexively moves closer to the body heat and throws an arm over his head that comes to rest vice-like around her leg.

She stares, but he’s definitely out cold. Despite her frustration and fear that she’ll end up with vomit all over her anyway, she can’t help smile a little.

Of course she doesn’t hate him. He’s disgustingly un-hateable, even drunk. But she has a feeling morning-after Tom will bring the hate right back…


End file.
